She
by DARN i lost my ink pen
Summary: Chilling one-shot about a character who, as far as I can tell, has never been written about before- especially in this manner. Many clues, and metaphors...a history from her dark perspective. Slight gore. REVISED


So this is my first project that I've posted since getting back from vacation (which was yesterday) and I'm running on only four hours of sleep and a five hour time change. NRFH's next chapter has not yet been sent to the Beta workshop but I'll hopefully do that somtime today. And if you keep up with All-Knowing Elf, then I'll give it to you straight. It's gonna take a while. Along with my three ideas, I've been given eight- or so, I didn't count- from reviewers and I'm hurridly trying to get it all out on paper. Or computer. Something. Anyway, here's my first ever horror fic, Beta-ed by Gregs Labrat, about **my interpretation of the personification of Mirkwood. **

**Revised.**

**...**

She

Leaves…scattered over her…decomposing against her body…_stifling_. She breathes in, frantic to get just one lungful of untainted air but all she receives is a mouthful of muddy leaves. Panicking, she squirms, she pushes, uses all of the little strength she has, but doesn't even move. She can't. She can't move away from herself, no matter how much she needs that one breath of air.

Rotting wood is everywhere. Fungi-covered dead branches seem to form themselves…fuse themselves onto everything they can touch. A place that was once alive, full of light and laughter is now lost, merely an impression swallowed by the mist. The mist swallows all. It slowly encroaches, _gulping_ and _devouring_ until every good thing is eaten. There is no resisting it, no stopping it. She can only stand and watch, horrified, as she is steadily dissolved by this curse.

But she doesn't _hate_ the mist; it isn't nearly as bad as the Shadow that has lodged itself in her very heart. When the Shadow entered her, that was when the nightmare began.

She _hates_ the Shadow. She _hates_ it with every dark thought in her mind. But it only laughs at her, knowing that there is nothing she can really do. All her bad thoughts are empty threats, because she is worn. She will not fight much. And she is finding it harder and harder to distinguish between herself and the Shadow she loathes. At times she screams curses, only to realize that she is cursing herself- and which fate is worse? To be consumed by the mist and fade into horrible Nothingness, or to become the one with the Thing she most fears? She doesn't know.

It might help if she knew who she had been beforehand, and compare it to what she is now, and what she will be, but she doesn't. She only grasps snatches of visions and feelings before the memories float away, mocking her…always mocking her.

And oh Eru, she can't _breathe._

She _hates_ this musty, dead smell in the air. She _hates_ seeing flashes of things pass by her and through her and move on without a second thought to kill each other. She _hates_ seeing herself kill the only beings that could possibly save her. She _hates_ seeing herself shelter and help the allies of the Shadow. Allies…or servants. She can't tell. Perhaps she herself is a servant of the Shadow. But if that's true, then _why does she _hate_ it so much?_

She attacks the Shadow. She does. Even though she knows that it only hurts her, she cannot help it. Blood pours on the ground as each day she begins her ritual of scrabbling at that Thing just beyond her reach. The blood is her blood, of course; there is no real chance of her succeeding in drawing just one drop from her tormentor. But still, madly, wildly, _blindly_, she tries…

If she is becoming part of the Shadow…does that mean that there was always some evil deep inside her, waiting to show itself? Or is she such a weakling that the evil finds no difficulty in entering her? Somehow both answers seem correct, and yet she knows that there is something missing…something so vitally important it will kill her if she doesn't remember. Death will be her punishment for forgetting.

But nobody understands that death passed her by long ago.

All they understand that she _is_ death to many.

The Dark One, they call her. Evil brews in her, they say, old and terrible magic comes from her. But it doesn't. Not really. She's just too feeble and exhausted to prove the slanderers wrong.

_ What was it that she forgot?_

Her nectar is poison…sweet, sickly poison that brings dreams of wonderful, yet terrible things- it runs through her veins, never overflowing its boundaries, never spreading through the rest of her body to finish the job of killing her, corrupting her, maiming her.

It hurts her more than the mist, that just engulfs her and the only pain she feels is the knowledge that she is decomposing. Rotting away and vanishing, just like the dead wood all around. No…the poison doesn't kill her body, but it kills her mind, because when she wakes, she feels so _hungry_, so _needy_ for something, anything. Or is it somebody? She doesn't know. She thinks the Shadow brought it to drive her insane, but even that, she is not sure of.

In fact, the only thing she does know is that she must get it _out_, tear out the terrible fear that resides in her. Somehow it knew of the one place that she could never get to, never touch. Deep in her heart, it lurks, laughing merrily at each try of hers to gouge that…_Thing…_that Shadow that _smothers_... It laughs at her, a high pitched and horrible sound that grates and hurts her ears. But what is uglier than the sound is the fact that it won't _stop._ She screams, she claws at her heart, she tries to concentrate on the slight remaining warmth left in her, she even shuts her eyes and hums the songs that she was taught from birth- they should sooth her -, but over all of this the cackling rises triumphantly and leers at her.

Why her? Maybe it knew she would be weakest.

Oh Eru, it _hurts._ It _hurts _every time she thinks of the Beginning; there was no fear then. It _hurts_ every time she tries to block out the laughing. It _hurts_ every time she breathes in empty, oxygen-deprived air. She cannot understand life without pain.

_ Thump…thump…_

Blood throbs through her heart, pulsing and pushing the Shadow through her. It beats incessantly, alerting her to the undeniable fact that with every _thump_ the Shadow moves further up and further in. The…Thing…already controls her- fear is a powerful thing- but now it must _inhabit_ all of her…The Shadow is a ceaseless invader.

_ Thump…thumpitty thump…_

The sound drives her insane.

Although, perhaps she already was insane. Perhaps she's always been insane.

She unwittingly remembers something. She was tall, proud, beloved and admired by many on Middle-Earth. She remembers speaking with fair beings, whose eyes shone with the desire to teach her. She remembers less majestic, lowly beings wandering through her and touching her soft, smooth skin in awe. She remembers even weird, foreign little men respecting her for her power.

And then suddenly, the memory is gone, and all that is left is a painful loneliness. She doesn't remember speaking; can't comprehend the idea. She doesn't even recall having thought of the Beginning…only the scar of the faded memory it has left behind.

She has many of these scars, gashes that carve their path through her body, but she cannot remember why they are there. She assumes that it is the Shadow's doing. And she is partly right.

What she cannot even comprehend, however, is that she is the greatest puppet the Shadow has. She is now the most feared, the most hated, the most despised and cursed servant of all.

_ Thump…thump…_

All she wants is to rest, to regain some of the strength that she lost and maybe free herself. But her mind is forced to jump, forced to see all the destruction that she caused...she was never strong of will. When the light ones came to her, she greeted them happily, listened to them, and became what they desired. And now the Shadow is using her, and that makes her _angry._ It makes her angry, angry, angry…how dare the Shadow laugh at her even _before_ entering her! That thought rouses her enough that she stands, great and terrible in her fury, and onlookers are afraid. The Shadow sees her tantrum and is displeased; his hostess should not be so headstrong.

A shuddering pain seizes her, a terror that fills her mind until she screams in silent agony. Trees groan and shift, unused to movement; roots slither through unfurrowed earth. She tries to remember, tries, tries, tries...Treelimbs creak and swing haphazardly. Black flashes sizzle through the air towards her, and hit their mark with a chaotic shower of blood, leaves and debris. The trees still. At first she stands in shock; but then, whimpering, she sags back to the ground, helpless and hopeless once more. The leaves that were disturbed settle back down upon her body. She screams one last time as she is reduced to the silence.

And the Shadow laughs.

_ fin_

* * *

Okay, in case you didn't see the bold type, 'she' is the personification of Mirkwood. Yes, the forest of which Legolas is prince; and also where Bilbo traveled through before being captured by elves.

Some explanations, references, and tricky bits:

1. _She can't move away from herself, no matter how much she needs that one breath of air_- Well, of course not. She is the forest.

2. The mist- Okay, artistic license. It can be interpreted as Time, however.

3. The Shadow- I thought this one would be pretty obvious. Sauron. During his stay in Dol Guldor (the dark fortress he created, situated in the 'heart' of Mirkwood) he is referred to as the Shadow.

4. ..._lodged itself in her very heart-_ Dol Guldor was in the heart of Mirkwood.

5_. ...flashes of beings pass through her and move on without a second thought to kill each other_- The elves and orcs constantly fought in Mirkwood. And who can forget the spiders?

6. _All they know is that she _is _death to many-_ Mirkwood was dangerous, and feared greatly.

7. _Her nectar...flows through her bringing dreams of great and yet terrible things_- If you haven't read The Hobbit, you won't understand. There is a river in Mirkwood, and if somebody were to drink from it, they would fall asleep and dream of feasts and such (The dream of a feast is the only recorded dream, but I personally believe that the dreamer would dream of whatever they desired most. In Mirkwood's case, freedom). Another reference to this is that, when she wakes, she craves the reality of her dream.

8. The light ones- Elves; they taught the trees to speak. (The lesser beings are Men, and the strange ones are Dwarves).

9. _...his hostess_- The greatest clue of all. Sauron resided in Mirkwood.

10. What was it she forgot?- The forest lost its voice. She forgot how to speak. In the last paragraph, when she 'screams in silent agony' (yes, how very emo) the trees 'groan and shift', as if trying to remember, trying to speak, but the gift is out of their reach.


End file.
